Bleeding Love
by petite etoile22
Summary: WARNING: Scenes of a distressing nature.
1. If You Really Want To Help

Ros pressed her knees so tightly to her chest that she thought her ribs would break. It wouldn't be so bad if they did, after all she was used to it now, all sixteen years of _it_. She could vaguely see the red digits of the clock through her mildly swollen eye, which read 6:15. She knew that in 3 minutes and 26 seconds she would force herself up and make her way to the bathroom and spend 7 minutes and 49 seconds wiping the blood from her battered body. She would then spend a measly 4 minutes and two seconds getting dressed in black (because she believed that this would somehow hide the bruises on her arms and collarbone) and finally, finally she would spend 1 hour, 3 minutes and 12 seconds applying make-up to hide the bruises on her face. And she knew the clock would read 7:39 when she closed the front door behind her after skipping breakfast. Finally, Ros mustered up the courage to begin her routine and the clock did read 7:39 when she left her house.

Ros quickly darted down to Highgate station to catch the tube to work. It would be easier to drive to work but she never can because the car isn't hers, the house isn't hers, she works but the clothes on her back aren't even hers. Ros jumped on the crowded carriage and spent the entire journey trying to ignore the pain in her head, as she couldn't get to her bag containing the much-needed aspirin. She emerged onto the embankment and paused a moment on the bridge. It would be so easy just to jump now. Jump and end it all. All the pain, all the betrayal, all the despair that she felt everyday. She had that thought every morning, and every morning she had to force herself across the bridge, force herself onto the grid, force herself to live. Only she couldn't do this time and she gripped the rail for what seemed like a lifetime, trying to fight the urge, and when she won the battle she desperately wished she had lost and that her body was now floating down the Thames.

Ruth is the first one to notice the bruises. She felt a painful wrenching in her gut and knew she had to do something, or at least say something. She hurried over to the blonde's desk under the pretence of needing a second opinion.

"Ros?"

"Mmm?" Ruth noticed the slight wince on her face as Ros turned round too quickly.

"I was just wondering…I was just-"

"Just what? For Christ's sake spit it out!" she snapped, the pain in her side becoming unbearable.

"D-Don't worry" Ruth muttered.

Ros brushed past her and ran straight to the toilets. Ruth was going to follow her but thought better of it. Ros slid down the wall of cubicle, silent sobs streaming down her pale cheeks. This wasn't what it was supposed to be like; she wasn't her mother. She had vowed that she would never be like her mother. Yet here she was, lying in a toilet in agony, believing that death would be better than going home. There was a faint knocking and before she has time to recover, Ruth is stood before her with that look Ros hated so much, that look her grandmother gave her mother, that infamous look of _pity_.

"Ros-"

"Don't Ruth, Don't…just don't. Don't speak to me, don't talk to me, don't comfort me…just don't. Just, just get out. Leave. Now" she spat with venom.

"No. I'm sorry but I can't"

"All you have to is turn around, move one foot in front of the other and close the door behind you"

"I'm not leaving this Rosalind. You're being abused and you have to-"

"What? How dare you hurl such accusations around!" she hissed bitterly.

"What else can I do?"

"You can leave now before I say something I regret. You can leave and keep your stupid conclusions to yourself because they aren't helpful"

"And it's helpful to get beaten to a pulp? Christ, I thought you were an intelligent woman" Ruth felt guilty for saying these things but she just couldn't control her anger.

"I don't know how you have the audacity to make such a statement. Can you see any injuries other than the ones of your imagination? I am a married woman and what goes on in my personal life is between me and my husband" Ruth was haunted by the defensive nature of the woman's speech.

"I just want to help!"

"If you really want to help Ruth, if you _really_ want to help then stay the hell out of my way and don't bring this ridiculous subject up again. Because if, _if_ anything was happening, I'd probably be to blame" she breathed. Ruth did as the woman asked and struggled to hold back her angry tears as she left. This wasn't how it was supposed to be.

Harry was aware of the pointed looks his wife was shooting Ros all the way through the briefing. He also noticed that Ros was looking much thinner than usual and her skin had taken on a sickly pallor. He called her to his office as soon as the meeting was over, overwhelmed with concern for all his employees after the Adam debacle.

"How are you feeling Rosalind?"

"Fine"

"Really, how are things at work? Any problems in any of your ops"

"Fine…No" she replied monosyllabically.

"You're not fine Rosalind" Harry was shocked when she tensed slightly at his tone of voice and clutched at her stomach. Ros noticed the direction of his look.

"It's just a little food poisoning" she lied "I thought I could deal with it"

"Take the rest of today and tomorrow morning off. I need you fighting fit for Thursday"

"You're the boss" she said in her cheeriest tone even though she wanted to weep. Home was the last place she wanted to go. She loved the grid; it was the only place she could escape, the only place where she could pretend that everything was as it was supposed to be.

Ros tensed as soon as she heard the door slam shut behind her. A deal probably hadn't gone down well and work and it was clear that he had taken it home with him. Ros was at a loss as to what to do but she supposed sticking to routine was the safest option for now.

"Welcome home Oliver darling" she greeted with genuine tenderness in her voice.


	2. The Question, The Joke

Thursday had passed without much trouble and the team were granted another successful op. Successful in the eyes of every one except Ros and Ruth. Ruth had badgered her colleague about admitting the truth until the blonde had threatened to shoot her and deal with the consequences willingly. Ruth just didn't understand how someone like Ros could stand to remain in an abusive relationship although she had no inkling as to how close they were, or how long they had been together (Ros never told anyone anything about her personal life. All they knew was that she was married to Mace, a fact which caused some mild tension upon her transfer). Ruth managed to catch Ros as she was heading home for the day.

"Ros, I just wanted to-" she began tentatively.

"I don't want to hear it Ruth"

"I just can't understand-"

"What? You just can't understand what? That someone else can be happily married besides you and Harry?" she hissed.

"No! This just isn't you Ros!"

"I'm not the person you think I am. Now if you'll excuse me I have to get home" Ros started to make her way to the station.

"He'll kill you, you know that don't you?" she called after her.

"My, my Ruthie…You have such a vivid imagination" she replied sarcastically, although in her heart she knew that Ruth was right. Eventually, Oliver would kill her and as much as she tried to push that thought from her head, it returned as constant as the rumbling of the train on its track. _He'll kill you. He'll kill you. He'll kill you. He'll kill you. He'll kill you._ _He'll kill you. He'll kill you. He'll kill you. He'll kill you. He'll kill you. He'll kill you. He'll kill you. He'll kill you…_

Ros and Oliver were watching the news when it happened. The question, the most infuriating question in the world. Oliver sat down and changed the channel to BBC one. Ros said nothing; she had already programmed the sky plus, knowing full well what her husband was going to do. After all, it happened nearly every other night. The newsreader's voice cut through the atmosphere announcing new changes to the measures surrounding the detention and interrogation of terror suspects. Old news to them really. Oliver was still transfixed by the programme and added his own comments to the panel's, all of which Ros agreed to, she found it was less painful that way. She'd once been bold enough to suggest torture and had been given a kiss as a reward for her sense of humour. Oliver liked it when she seemed naïve, he liked it even more when she was docile, and Ros played along because it was easier that way. Oliver stopped halfway through his latest contribution and began to stare at her face. Ros hated this intense scrutiny and was about to go to bed when his voice stopped her short.

"What happened?" he asked gently.

Ros remained frozen in her chair. She had no idea what he was talking about.

"Your eye, what happened to your eye?" he asked again.

Ros wanted to laugh at the stupidity of the question. The bastard was pretending. The bastard was pretending that it wasn't him who slammed his fist into her face because she had burnt the toast this morning.

"Nothing"

"You've got a black eye" he stated.

"Kitchen cupboard….I walked into the kitchen cupboard" she replied faintly.

"It looks sore. Does it hurt?" she couldn't tell if the concern in his voice was real or not.

"Not really" she lied.

"Good" he replied, drawing out the double o.

There was a long silence between them. Oliver leaned over and gently placed his fingers over the bruise as if he were surveying his handiwork. Ros shivered beneath his touch, his fingertips like ice on her flesh. He leant back in the chair, his eyes never once leaving his wife.

"You should put some ice on it" he said at last.

"…Good idea, I will. She whispered as she made her way to the kitchen. "Would you like some tea, darling?"

"That would be nice…Watch out for those kitchen cupboards!" he called out after her. It was a joke. Her whole life was a joke; she was a fucking joke.

Ros put the kettle on and while it boiled she leant on the countertop with her head in her hands. The whole evening had been a game and even though she wasn't currently wiping her own blood off the tiled kitchen floor; she had still lost. Oliver had put her in her place yet again. He was letting her know that even if he wasn't hitting her now, he could if he wanted to, and she would lie at his behest. Ros flinched at the whistling of the kettle and prepared the cups of tea, starting with Oliver's. She returned to the sitting room cradling two cups of scalding hot water and sat down slowly. She handed him his cup and waited for him to take the first sip before her own cup even touched her lips.

Ros knew by the way Oliver set down his cup that another fight was on its way. He had just received a phone call obviously telling him bad news. Although, to Oliver, merely not getting his way over some petty little issue was bad news. She knew the fight was imminent when he poured himself a glass of brandy. So she was surprised when he just stalked past her and into the bedroom. Ros turned off the television, locked up and followed him in; there was a rule in the Mace household, when Oliver went to bed, everyone went to bed. By the time she got there, the lights were off and Oliver was already in bed. Ros slowly got changed making sure she avoided her bruises, climbed into bed, and angling her body towards Oliver for some scrap of comfort, she waited for tomorrow to come.


	3. It Was An Accident

A year had past since Ruth's discovery and her suspicions hadn't been assuaged. In fact, they had come into full swing when Ros had entered the grid one morning, close to tears. This time Ruth had decided to follow her, she didn't care what the woman said, this had got to stop, Ros had to get out of this relationship because things weren't supposed to be like this. Ruth pushed her into the nearest cubicle and locked the door behind her.

"What did he do to you?"

"Nothing" she wept "I…Nothing…"

"You're crying. You never cry"

"We were…we were trying to have children. We try every spring…"

"And?"

"Nothing, every year nothing, and it can't be him…"

"Why can't it be?"

"Because it's never his fault" she whispered, her eyes wide and filled with tears.

"Oh Ros…" Ruth sighed.

"We gave up a couple of months ago, anyway…I just really wanted to be a mother. I'm 36 and I thought- I thought I still had time…"

"You do!"

"It wouldn't have been right anyway…" Her voice trailed off and Ruth noticed a change in Ros' demeanour. She was becoming tired; she was becoming tired of it all.

"Don't think like that, you can always…"

"There's no point, it just wouldn't have been right" Ros sighed regretfully before she walked out and carried on with her work like nothing had happened. Ruth bit her lip in frustration, it was different for her, she had children but a part of her refused to believe that the problem lay with Ros. That train of thought stayed with her all day and she only managed to discard when the blonde gave her a lame smile as she left because Ruth knew that these thoughts weren't going to help Ros at this moment in time.

Ros immediately tensed as she felt Oliver's presence behind her. She had just finished loading the dishwasher when he grabbed her from behind. She gave him a weak smile and ignored the discomfort flowing through her veins while he kissed her passionately. He pulled away and gave her a wry grin. Ros' head hurt with the amount of tension that was now in her body. She hadn't had a good day and she wasn't really in the m… Her thoughts were interrupted by the contact of his arousal on her body and her face blanched. She struggled to concentrate on her husband's words.

"…I don't think the meeting could've gone any better!"

"That's wonderful darling" she congratulated softly.

"I think it calls for a celebration don't you?" he growled as he pressed himself against her once more.

"Yes" Ros breathed, all resolve leaving her.

Oliver scooped her up into her arms and carried her into the bedroom, oblivious to the apprehension radiating from his wife. He laid her gently on the bed; her frame seemingly dwarfed by her isolated presence on the king sized bed. Oliver began to peel her clothes from her body before lying on top of her, forcing the air from her lungs. Ros turned her head to the side, revealing her neck to him. He bit down hard on the exposed flesh, breaking the skin, and Ros held back a whimper; She hated it when he bit. Oliver's mouth trailed lazily over her upper body and Ros clenched her fists when he sank his teeth into her breast drawing blood. He pinned her arms above her head and nipped her affectionately on the nose. He kissed her leisurely on the lips and whispered softly in her ear. These actions always confused her because they were a stark contrast to everything else he did. Ros couldn't help but let out a short sharp gasp as he entered her because she was never really ready for that transition. She winced at each thrust but never dared to tell him that he was being too rough or too hard for fear that it would spoil his mood. Ros gave a small moan of pain when her head slammed into the headboard and looked briefly into her husband's eyes to see that he was lost in the moment. Finally, she heard him groan in satisfaction above her and he fell heavily onto her chest from exhaustion, not yet removing himself from her. Eventually, he rolled off with a careless peck and lies next to her, her hand clasped in his. Ros thought that it actually might've been a wonderful after-sex moment if it wasn't for her strange urge to weep at this moment in time. She didn't cry though, instead, she lay awake for the rest of the night, her body never quite being able to relax due to the strong arm currently wrapped round her waist.

Ros knew that it was not going to be her day as soon as she bolted from the bed after feeling the vibrations of her phone's alarm. She always woke up before the alarm; she had overslept. She clutched her chest and tried to quell her rising panic. There was still 45 minutes before Oliver woke up. As long as his suit was ironed and ready for when he got up, everything would be fine. Ros hastily got washed and dressed because she knew she had to be ready aswell before her awoke. She silently pulled down the ironing board and began to do his suit. She managed to finish with 11 minutes to spare and after she had hung up his suit and lay out his shoes, she set to work on making breakfast. Ros was setting the kitchen table when Oliver emerged from the bedroom, glancing down at his outfit.

"Good morning dear. Breakfast is ready" she greeted him with an anxious kiss.

"I have a meeting, I'll get something on the way…there's a mark" he noted, not once looking up at her. Ros thought she was going to burst into tears.

"Really?" she responded weakly.

"I think I'd know if there was a goddamn mark on my own shirt!" he snapped, his anger quickly reaching boiling point.

"I'm sorry"

"Sorry's not good enough" he hissed coldly, his hand raised as if to slap her.

"I'll iron another-"

"You really are a stupid bitch aren't you? I have to leave _now_." He emphasised in raised tones whilst pinning her to the wall. He looked her up and down with an air of pure hatred.

"I'm sorry" she whimpered. Oliver grabbed her by the hair and hurled her in the direction of the living room; she landed just before door and he yanked her to her feet.

"Left or Right?" he asked sinisterly.

"What?"

"Left or Right?" he demanded once more.

"I don't-"

"Answer the damn question bitch!"

"Left! Left!" she wailed.

Oliver pinned her left hand to the doorframe and slammed the door. Ros let out a cry and pressed herself against the wall for support.

"What are you?"

"Stupid…" she moaned as the door slammed again.

"What are you?"

"A stupid bitch!" she shrieked as he slammed the door for a final time. Ros slid to the floor, cradling her injured hand and moaning softly, her tear moistening her cheeks. Oliver merely glanced down before stepping over her body and leaving the house, slamming the front door behind him. Ros lay there for a few minutes more before slowly grabbing her bag and jacket, and making her way to A&E.

The nurse in A&E was nice, at least she managed to look as if she believed Ros. Ruth was nice too; she managed not to press the fact that Ros was lying through her teeth aswell.

"So…What happened?" the nurse asked.

"I went to turn off the hall light and the front door slammed shut"

"It looks pretty nasty"

"It was of those old doors, heavy wood"

"Mmm…Well the Doctor says they're all clean breaks, so I'll just get them set and then you can go" Ros sat in silence as her fingers were put in splints and bandaged together, and her arm was put in a sling to keep it elevated. Ros hopped off the bad and thanked the nurse.

"It's my job, just come back in 6-8 weeks okay? Oh, and try to get that door fixed so it doesn't swing back yeah?" Ros merely nodded and made her way to work.

The reaction she got when she walked through the grid was not the one she wanted. She had told them vaguely that she had had an accident but hadn't gone into details.

"What the hell happened to your hand?" Jo exclaimed.

"Front door" she simply replied.

"Your front broke all your fingers? Shit, man" Zaf shook his head in disbelief.

"You should get that door fixed" Ruth suggested pointedly.

"I like the door. I'm keeping the door. The accident was my fault" she replied evenly. Harry took one look at her bandaged arm and called her into his office. He indicated for her to sit.

"You can't work like that"

"I've worked like this before"

"When?"

"Back in 6"

"Well, we're not 6. We care about the well being of our officers"

"I got discharged, that says I'm fine. It was a silly little accident, I forgot to jam the door"

Harry's reply was interrupted by his phone. The conversation was brief and one-sided.

"It seems your husband and Juliet are blessing us with their presence"

"Really?" Her voice sounded pained and stretched.

"Something wrong?"

"Arm, just my arm…" she lied yet again.

* * *

**I am so depressed and this was so difficult to write so please review...**


	4. The Promise

Ros started drinking in a futile attempt to numb the pain. She hid the wine bottles round the back of the kitchen sink and drank straight from the bottle, cutting out the middle man that was a glass. She supposed people would think that she was drinking because of the abuse. She wasn't. She was drinking because of stress. The stress of living to be precise. She headed over to the hotel shower, drinking the last of her orange juice laced with Smirnoff as she goes. She was on an op. She was free of Oliver for a further 34 hours and 26 minutes. She hated the fact that she divided up her life according to him. She hated the fact that she had finished her vodka.

Ros stepped out of the shower feeling just as shit as before. The warm water had done nothing for her bruises and only served to highlight the newly acquired burn on her wrist. It's funny but she likes it. It reminded her of those stars you find atop of Christmas trees. Stars. Those giant balls of gas you were supposed to make wishes on. Not that any of her wishes came true. Ros looked at herself in the mirrored surfaces and was unphased by the skeletal figure that stared back. She knew a lot about her health. She knew the chances of passing her next medical were slim. She was 5 foot 6 yet weighed only 6 and a half stone, if that. You could see her ribcage clearly and her hips protruded so far out, one thought they would tear the flesh. She couldn't eat properly for fear of something not being right. Her once blonde hair was now white with stress. She managed to retain some of her youthful features; Oliver had not denied her that. And she was able to put many of her scars down as work related. She's young but she looks like she's dying. And in a way she is. Her body shutting down bit by bit. She could tell because she hadn't had a period in 3 months. Oliver didn't seem to notice and if he did then it was obvious he didn't care. He still took her when he felt like it.

They had just finished breakfast once when he did it. Didn't even say a word to her. Just grabbed her plaited hair and drove himself inside her. All she could see were her tears as they the hard surface of the kitchen table. All she could hear were his grunts as he satisfied his carnal appetite. All she could feel were his thrusts tearing her delicate skin and the shooting pain in her hips as she felt like she was being pushed deeper and deeper into the table. And then it stopped. It was over. And the only visible difference was that the kitchen table was on the other side of the room. He pulled out strands of her blonde hair as he came. He gave her a gentle pat on the head as if she were a pet and left for work. Ros leant on the table in shock. Her breaths came in deep, ragged gasps and she tried to ignore the sensation of her blood trickling down her legs.

And she hated it.

And she hated him.

And she hated herself for letting it happen.

Ros lay in front of the mini bar, daring herself not to open it. She managed to succeed until she got the call. The call telling her that their target had been apprehended. The call telling her the op was over. She let the door swing open and then shut it again. Elf sized bottles would not do, they would not do at all. She flexed her healed fingers hard because she realised she wouldn't be able to get a drink until she got home. And going home meant going back to Oliver. Ros threw her things into her case not caring whether they tore or broke because at least they had the luxury of feeling pain. She knew she was meant to attend the debrief in Harry's room along with the others but she couldn't be arsed. She muttered an obscenity when Ruth caught up with her at the carpool.

"Harry was wondering where you were"

"I'm going home"

"You could take the cab somewhere else" she ventured.

"I couldn't Ruth, you know that"

"We wouldn't tell a soul"

"He'd make your life hell. He doesn't touch section D because I'm in it. If I left he'd know it was you..."

"We don't care"

"_I _care. It's what we do, we go home and we take it because it's the only thing we know how to do"

"But you know so much more! You've been so many places!"

"And always back to him. I married him when I was nineteen Ruth, I been married to him for nearly half my life. And just look at me Ruth; do you think anyone else could bear to tolerate this?"

"This isn't you talking Ros, this is Oliver and you know it!"

"He let me finish university, he let me get a job...all I have to do is stay. It's not that difficult is it?"

"I couldn't do it; I could never be that brave. Not in the face of that"

"It's not bravery, it's cowardice. If I leave, he'll kill me...Looks like you were right after all Ruth"

The cab pulled up in front of them and the two females struggled to hold back their tears.

"Promise me something Ros"

"What?" she whispered through the car window.

"Promise me that if-if he tries to-to again, you'll say no. Promise me you'll say no"

"I promise"

And she did. When she arrived home that night, she did say no to him. And the look of pure rage in his eyes as he dragged her towards the bedroom, told her it was the beginning of the end for her. But for some reason, she didn't care. For some reason, all she could think of as the shards of mirror slashed her back, was the promise she had made to Ruth. The promise she had kept.

And she loved herself for it.


	5. Yours

The next morning, they ate breakfast in a total silence that Ros couldn't bear. Because for her, there was no silence, only the echoes of last night's screams. It was not in her nature to break it though, she never broke anything; only Oliver did that. She pushed her plate aside and was quietly pleased to find that she had managed to eat something in his presence. Oliver gazed over at his wife and inspected her wounds with a detached air. He held back a smile when she flinched at his sudden movement. His fingers traced the contours of her body, pausing only to admire the bruises his hands had left round her neck, her arms, her thighs...

"You're not going into work today, are you?"

Ros bowed her head in acknowledgement. This was an order, not a question.

"I'll be back in a few hours. Then we can talk"

"T-Talk?"

"Yes, talk" He kissed her softly on the neck before leaving.

Ros sighed as the door slammed shut. She was grateful he hadn't gone all the way last night, that only his hands had wandered this time, that he hadn't... It wasn't much to be grateful for, but it was all she had. She couldn't think about what could've happened. It was not his attack that frightened her, but the certainty that she would've stayed by his side afterwards because she had already done so before. Because after all these years, she'd come to realise that he was right, she was truly nothing without him. In the few hours that passed, the house was spotless and every trace of last night's incident had been eradicated. Ros flopped down onto the kitchen table, succumbing to her exhaustion and ignoring the shooting pains in her back and chest. It felt wonderful when she finally gave into her body's desires. Until she heard the key turn in the lock. She stumbled to her feet and managed a smile when he entered the room.

"So would you like to tell me what happened last night?"

"I fell" came her automatic response to situations like these.

"You know what I mean"

"I was tired and I thought-"

"There's your mistake right there!" he laughed.

Ros averted her gaze in shame.

"What did I tell you about thinking?"

"It's what you do" she mumbled.

"Correct. Now I don't mind you 'thinking' with those morons in section D, but not in my house. Do you understand?"

"Yes Oliver" she bit her lip to keep her tears from falling.

"You're a silly little thing aren't you?"

"Yes I am"

He pulled her close and breathed in her scent. He sighed; it always reminded him of the rain.

"Come on, let's go out"

"Where?"

"I thought we could have a spot of lunch and then do some shopping"

"That's sounds wonderful"

"Two lamb cobblers and a bottle of your house red"

Ros gave him a bashful smile and glanced down at the table. He hadn't treated her like this in a long time. Oliver took her hand and squeezed it in reassurance.

"How was your morning?"

"Good. A chance to catch up on the housework" Not that she'd ever fall behind. "How was yours?"

"Excellent. Managed to deal with that MPs awful problem"

"I'm so pleased for you"

"You never did tell me how your op went"

"We got our man. Earlier than expected. Apparently-"

"I thought we could visit Bond Street together after lunch"

"Sounds nice"

"It does, doesn't it?" he leant in and kissed her softly on the lips. He drew her head in close to his like two courting lovers or members of a coup.

"God you're beautiful. I love you"

"I love you too" She wasn't lying and that's what hurt the most, the fact that she still loved him after everything. He stroked her cheek and she trembled beneath his touch. She had given herself to him completely and now she had nothing left. He owned her now and he would probably own her until she breathed her last.

"Let's skip dessert"

"Let's" she breathed, overcome with emotion.

* * *

He kissed her wounds and bathed her skin in warm breaths. Ros writhed beneath his firm grasp, face flushed with pleasure. As she reached to pull him close, he pulled away teasing her before resuming his expert strokes. Her breathing became hitched and she was no longer able to hold back her moans of ecstasy. Her eyes held an unspoken plea, which he wouldn't answer until he heard the magic words.

"Please..."

"What was that darling?"

"Don't..."

"Is this what you want?"

"Stop...Don't stop..."

"Tell me what I'm going to do"

"You're going to fuck me" she whimpered as his action became rougher and faster.

"That's right, and tell me why" Despite appearances to the contrary, this was not a completely selfless act. Because it always rewarded him with the three little words he revelled in hearing.

"Because I'm yours"


	6. Congratulations

"Where's Ros?" Ruth demanded as soon as she entered his office.

"Took the day off to recover from the op"

Ruth snorted, she doubted that was all the blonde was recovering from.

"What was that for?"

"Nothing"

"If this is about Mace..."

"I never thought you of all people would be so blinkered"

"I've known Mace for over twenty years and as slippery as he is, he would never hit a woman"

"There are always exceptions to the rule"

"I know you want to help, but even if something was going on, we couldn't help until she said so"

"Did Ros ever accompany Mace when he went out?"

"Sometimes, but she had Uni and training"

"I just can't imagine attending those functions at 19"

"People do the strangest things when they're in love. Besides, she's a Myers"

"You're wrong, she's a Mace"

"They're one and the same really"

"Are they really? Are you sure about that?"

When Ros woke up, it was late evening and every fibre in her being ached. She slowly got up and made her way to the door, pulling her silk robe over her exposed body as she went. She was surprised to find Oliver standing in the doorway.

"What are you doing?"

"I was... I mean... you were gone..."

"I prepared dinner, your favourite"

"Why..." her voice trailed off as she burst into tears, "you're going away aren't you?"

Normally Oliver would have reprimanded her for such an outburst but the knowledge that such a reaction was due to his departure, soothed his ego sufficently to let the misdemeanour slide.

"I'll only be gone 2 months, ten weeks at the most" he reassured his wife, strokng her cheek.

"Where?"

"Saudi"

"Alright..." her voice was weak from the prospect of 2 months without fear, and without Oliver.

"Don't worry darling, I'll be back before you know it"

He was gone for 3.

* * *

When Ros entered the Grid, it was obvious that something had changed. Her smile exuded happiness, but even though Oliver was absent, the underlying tension remained. Ruth pulled her to one side and tried to offer her some semblance of comfort. From this distance, Ruth could see that the woman was positively shaking.

"He's back tomorrow, worry about it then"

"I don't think I can do that"

"Ros-" she began to sigh.

"I'm pregnant"

"Oh my God! That's brilliant news!"

"But what if he doesn't believe it's his?" she whispered, revealing her fear.

"Mace-"

"Oliver"

"Oliver wouldn't be that stupid"

"No, he wouldn't do that would he? He loves me"

"And he'll love your child"

"Mmm..." Ros gave a tense smile and headed out of the Grid. Ruth felt Harry wrap his arms around her and all her tension ebbed away. She wondered if Ros ever got moments like these.

"What was that about?"

"Nothing. She wanted to see if any more information had come through before she went to meet her asset" she lied.

Tariq waited nervously in the shadows of the alley as instructed. When Ros appeared, she pierced him with her cold, trademark glare. But something was different about her. Her features were rounder, softer, her face almost glowed in the darkness. For a moment, she reminded him of his mother, the she opened her mouth and the illusion was shattered.

"Where is he?"

"I don't know"

"Don't lie to me Tariq"

"I don't know!"

"You've betrayed your cell Tariq. I don't think they'd be too happy if they found that out"

"They'd kill me"

"Well then, you can either be very helpful, or very dead"

"... I don't know his exact address, but we often meet near Seven Sisters station"

"You're a very clever man Tariq" Ros started to walk away but his words stopped her short.

"Congratulations on your blessing by the way"

Oliver merely stared at her and she instantly regretted opening her mouth. She was foolish to believe that his reaction that his reaction would be anything but bad. His piercing glare moved from her face to her abdomen, and Ros moved a protective hand over her miniscule bump.

"And you're sure it's mine?"

"Yes" she whispered, throat sore with grief and unable to utter more than one word at once.

"Then it's settled. We're having a baby"

"Really?"

"It's what you've always wanted isn't it?"

"Yes"

"I've got to get some things from the office, I'll be back in a couple of hours"

Ros sat in the middle of the deserted living room, unsure if what to do next. His reaction was better than expected but it still left her feeling lonelier than ever.

In the six weeks since Ros had broken the news to him, the mood in the house had hardly lifted. She walked on eggshells more than ever and only spoke in muted tones. She was meant to be at her happiest, but the tendrils of fear wrapped round her ribcage stuck fast, and try as she might she couldn't shake them off. She went to her 18 week scan alone and it nearly broke her heart. She thought he would be happy. She thought she was giving him what he wanted. Those thoughts raced through her head as she got down the dinner set. It happened so quickly she couldn't tell what came first; the fall, or the shattered crockery.

"What happened?" Mace breathed, gripping her tightly.

"I was getting down the set and I slipped" she answered, willing herself not to cry in front of him.

"Why didn't you just ask me?"

"I-"

"You could've hurt yourself. Or the baby"

"Oh Oliver," she sobbed, "I thought you didn't care"

"Of course I do. I'm sorry if you thought I didn't"

"I'm sorry, the dinner set-"

"Forget about it. We'll eat out, it is a celebration after all. You're a silly little thing"

He gently led her into the bedroom and left her to get changed while he sorted out the reservations and informed the guests of their change of plans. Ros moved slowly round the room, stopping only when she caught sight of herself in the mirror. She looked different, she looked better, she looked stronger. Her skeletal form had filled itself out so that she now vaguely resembled normal. Her hair was starting to regain some of its colour and her eyes had lost their sunken look. Only the scars marred her image. Her swelling womb highlighted the knife wound, the cuts, the burn marks, and a few operational scars too. Ros tensed slightly as she felt a pair of arms wrap round her torso but smiled when she saw his face. He was tracing patterns on the base of her spine and she shivered. Ros kissed him softly on the lips and drew back shyly. He smiled at her rosy complexion and pulled her close, running his fingers through her silky hair.

"I booked the table for 8"

"Have you told them?"

"Just got off the phone. They said 8 was fine"

"I meant about our news!" she giggled.

"No, I thought we should surprise them"

"They're spies. I thought they would've guessed by now"

"Well they haven't seen you in a long time, and they're- how do your friends put it? Ah yes, desk spooks"

* * *

Ruth looked over and saw immense boredom etched on the blonde woman's face, and she could understand. After the initial five minutes of congratulations, the conversation rapidly descended into male territory. They excused themselves and made their way to the ladie's, earning Ros some patronising looks from most of her male companions. Ros leant heavily against the cubicle door and let out a sigh, earning a smile from Ruth.

"Tired?"

"Something like that"

An awkward silence punctuated the air.

"Is everything alright?"

"I'm just thinking, that's all" _I can think with you._

"What about?"

"Ruth, is it over? Do you think he'll stop now?" she implored her friend, her voice barely audible.


	7. Ave Maria

Cutlery on plates was the only sound that passed between the two women. Lady Annabel Myers was at a loss as to what to say. It never occurred to her that the daughter she was most distant from, would end up being so similar to her. She felt uncomfortable like one often does when suffering déjà-vu, especially if it is a history we don't want repeated.

"I'm a grandmother"

"You- Yes"

"You must be so excited"

"Mmhm" her voice is taunt and her mother knows something is wrong.

"Has… anything happened?"

"No"

"Not yet"

"This whole pregnancy thing scares me mother" she declared, changing the subject.

"You mustn't be. Your father never laid a finger on any of you"

"I'm not like you and daddy… and I don't know what you're implying"

"I taught you well" she observed in a disappointed tone.

"How's Alice?" she inquired, closing that area of conversation.

"Robert says she's fine. Moved to Buenos Aires 2 months ago. You two always did like it there"

"Good" her voice was just as strained as before.

"Why don't you make up" Lady Annabel sighed.

"I'm not even going to answer that. We have an agreement that works"

"Not talking to each other?"

"I meet up with Robert, I ask after her, I don't comment and I keep my promise"

"You used to be so close…"

"She insulted my husband!"

"I used to defend your father like that" she smiled sadly.

"I'm not you"

"Robert told me about your fingers"

"Front door"

"I know. Those old wooden doors are heacy, aren't they?"

"I'm not like you mother"

"No. I always thought you were more intelligent"

"Can we have the bill please?" Ros called across to the waiter.

"Please, just talk to her"

"No"

"You'll regret it. Just like I regret losing my relationship with your Aunt Belinda"

"Like I said before, I'm not like you"

"No, you don't have children. Yet"

"It was nice seeing you"

"Rosalind-"

"Goodbye Mother" she softened her resolve enough to give the older woman a affectionate peck on the cheek.

Lady Annabel watched the retreating figure of her youngest daughter and sighed. Moments passed before another lithe blonde figure entered the room, albeit taller, more tanned, and happier than the previous one. The woman arranged herself in the chair opposite and gave a small smile.

"Mother"

"Alice"

"How's Ros?"

"She's expecting"

"Lindy is having a baby?" she exclaimed, her voice taking on a softer tone.

"Yes" the older woman beamed.

"So she finally left him"

The following silence told her everything she needed to know and her expression became stony.

"Is this your subtle way of telling me I'm wrong?"

"Alice, you're-"

"A fool for believing things would change? Yes"

"Please, just reconcile-"

"I meet up with Robert, I ask after her, I don't comment, and I keep my promise"

"You're so alike"

"I'm not like her, mother"

"She's your little sister"

"Who was big enough to tell me 'to stay the fuck out of my life, you frigid little bitch'. Her words, not mine"

"Her temper-"

"Her temper isn't the problem, it 's his!"

"Alice…"

"Don't Alice me. You didn't have to take her to the hospital at 2am with six broken ribs, a fractured cheekbone, and a dislocated shoulder, all because she 'fell down the stairs'. So you tell me his anger isn't a problem. She's having a child for gods' sake"

"Your father-"

"They're not like you and daddy. He-"

"You don't think I know that!" Lady Annabel finally snapped, "you don't think I'm scared for her too?"

"Then why aren't you helping her?"

"I've tried but she won't listen. Talk to her"

"I'll get the same reaction"

"No. She'll listen to you"

"Why are you so sure?"

"Because she admires you, and because you love her"

"I haven't spoken to her in nearly 10 years. I don't know where to find her"

"She's your little sister. You know where to find her"

* * *

Lady Annabel was right. As soon as Alice left, she knew exactly where to go. She navigated the winding streets of central London until stopping outside a little church concealed in an even smaller courtyard. She walked slowly up the marble staircase, nerves clutching every fibre of her body. The church was deserted except for a head of blonde hair before the altar.

"_Ave Maria, gratia plena, Dominus tecum. __Benedicta tu in mulieribus… "_

She stood at distance and listened to the nuances of her sister's voice. Nuances that she hadn't heard in a long time.

_"...et benedictus fructus ventris tui, Iesus…"_

Alice never got into the church; it was only really Rosalind. Every Sunday, every Easter, Midnight Mass.

_"...Sancta Maria, Mater Dei..."_

Rosalind had faith, a faith that was unwavering. It was something Alice was secretly envious of. That ability to trust in higher authority. But she doesn't know exactly what her little sister's had to do. She doesn't know how many people she's had to kill in the name of survival. Truth is, her little sister lost her faith a long time ago and she's been trying to get it back ever since.

"…_ora pro nobis peccatoribus, nunc…"_

Rosalind hadn't been to church in a long time. Well, not her church anyway. She remembered what a zealot she used to be and it made her laugh. She wasn't a religious woman anymore, but it was some internal faith that made her make the pact with God.

"_...et in hora mortis nostrae..." _

Alice heard the pact, her baby sister's whispered pleas. _'My God, If he spills my blood, give me the courage and strength to walk away. Please, please give me the courage. Let me be like my big sister Alice. Let me be happy...' _Alice walked away then, not because she didn't want to help, but because she knew she could if necessary. If Ros needed help, she would be there but her sister didn't have to know that. Rosalind was strong, she just needed to realise that; then she could be helped. Then, she would be safe.

"_Amen."_


	8. Mine

**Author's Note:** _Ooh, it has been months since I updated this fic, and so for obvious reasons, the style and tense have shifted slightly because of the change to my writing style. I've tried to be as accurate as possible, but poetic license may have been deployed once or twice. I don't own Spooks, BBC/Kudos do._

* * *

Ruth knows that something has happened before she even picks up the phone. Call it gut instinct, or call it the fact that she doesn't trust Mace as far as she can throw him. But most of all, Ros didn't phone in to check how things were going on the Grid; something she did everyday to the amusement of the team. In Ruth's book, that only means one thing.

"Hello?" she answers, dreading the news that might arrive.

"Ruth? Is that you Ruth?"

"Y-Yes. What's happening Ros?"

"My water's have broken!"

"What!" Ruth exclaims, horrified at the announcement. "But you're only 6 and a half months!"

"I know that, I'm not a fool." Ros snaps, her fear coming through. "I need you to take me to the hospital. I can't get out of the house. I'm in labour." she moans, as a contraction hits.

"Why?" Ruth demands, struggling to keep the worry and anger from her voice.

"I can't find my keys. Can you just come?"

"I'm on my way." Ruth assures, alread pulling her coat and grabbing her bag along with a set of Zaf's skeleton keys. Harry catches sight of her heading towards the pods, and follows, sensing his wife's distress.

"Ros's waters have broken, and she's in labour." she confides. "Ros is in labour and she can't get out of her house; she can't find her keys." Ruth chooses not to voice the sarcastic 'apparently' floating around her head.

"I'll drive."

* * *

On the drive there, she phones Ros to assure her that help is coming. "I'm calling an ambulance." she informs.

"No!" Ros cries as a contraction hits. "You can't do that. If they get there before you they'll break the door down."

They'll make noise. And people would see, and ask question. Questions that she can't answer.

"Tell her we're 3 minutes away. How far apart are the contractions?"

"Ros, how far apart ar-"

"About 15 minutes. They'll be able to stop it, won't they? At the hospital, they can stop it, can't they Ruth?"

"I don't know." sighs Ruth. She doesn't have the heart to tell Ros that by the time they get there, stopping the labour will be highly unlikely.

"We're here." Harry announces, dashing out of the car and making quick work of the door with his own set of lock picks. Ruth pushes past him and into the corridor, looking for any sign of Ros.

"Ros? Ros? We're here. Ros?"

"Kitchen." Ros calls out weakly.

Ruth rushes to her side, taking in the mess as she goes. "Were you trying to look for your keys?"

Ros's answer is halfway between a nod and a shake of the head, and it takes Ruth a second to realise she won't talk with Harry present.

"Harry, can you pop outside and call an ambulance?" Ruth asks.

"What about Ros?" he asks, eyes filled with concern.

"I'll manage, we'll call if we need help."

Ros only looks at Ruth when Harry closes the door behind him. Her lip is split, and deep purple bruise is starting to blossom over her left cheekbone and eye.

"I'm sorry." she whispers, sobs bubbling up and threatening to escape her mouth.

"It doesn't matter." Ruth murmurs, catching sight of Ros's keys lying by her feet. "It really doesn't matter."

Ruth goes to help the blonde woman up, but she flinches at her touch.

"I think he's broken my leg."

Harry rushes in with two paramedics, who instantly give her _that _look. Pity.

* * *

She start haemorrhaging in the ambulance, though that fact doesn't prevent her from dealing with the practicalities surrounding her unborn child.

"Ruth is my next of kin. Write that down, and let me sign it. Ruth is my next of kin. If it's a girl, he can't go near her. Call my sister; he can't go near her. If it's a girl, she's mine." she rambles, clinging to consciousness long enough to sign the back of a receipt which confirms her wishes. "If it's a girl, she's mine." she whispers before passing out.

The pregnant woman's hospital entrance passes in a blur for Ruth. The world only slows down when Harry puts his hand on her shoulder.

"They're doing the best they can."

"I know." she sighs. "I need to call her sister."

"Her sister?"

"Ros told me to call her."

"She only stated she had a brother in her personnel files."

"I'll call him; it's a start."

* * *

Forty five minutes later, a blonde women looking remarkably like Ros, storms onto the ward with a dark-haired man on her heels.

"You need to calm down..."

"Where is that bastard?" she demands.

"I haven't contacted Mace yet." Ruth answers.

"How is she?" The man inquires, cornering Harry slightly.

"She's stable. The delivery went as well as can be expected; they're transferring her-"

"It's a girl?"

"Yes."

"Thank God." Alice sighs.

"What's so important about it being a girl?"

"Our families drew up a marriage contract. If anything were to happen or they were to separate, he wouldn't have custody of any female offspring. They would be cared for by the maternal side of the family; and vice-versa for males." Her brother explains quietly.

"That's why she was so concerned about the gender." Ruth murmurs sadly.

"Where's Ros? I'd like to see her." Alice asks softly.

"The doctors said they were closing her up, and re-setting her hip fracture. You should be able to see her soon."

* * *

Ros looks so small in her hospital bed, and Ruth wonders how someone could reduce another human being to that state, and yet claim to love them at the same time.

"She's resting," whispers the nurse as she checks the various leads and drips attached to Ros. "She needs all the rest she can get, poor thing."

Ruth isn't sure how Ros Myers would react to being called a 'poor thing'. She waits until the nurse is out of the room before she opens her mouth to speak.

"I can't believe he did this to her."

"At least she didn't say she fell down the stairs this time." Alice sighs, her eyes never leaving her younger sister.

"You mean he's attacked her this badly before!"

"We stopped talking after her second miscarriage. I hear about her through Robert though; he stabbed her once." Alice looks as if she is about to cry, and Ruth thinks it best to leave the two siblings alone. "I should've been a better sister to you. I shouldn't have walked away. But I'm here now, and so's your daughter; I'm going to make sure she gets through this. Because I know if you lost this little one, it would kill you. So I'm not going to let that happen. Robert and I will make it better Ros; we'll make you better."

Ros's steady rhythm on the heart monitor is all she gets as a response. Alice is just about to visit her niece, when a figure in the doorway blocks her exit.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

"Can't a man visit his wife in hospital anymore? Besides, none of you thought of telling the staff about me; too busy saving her life, I imagine. I'm upset that none of you thought to tell me that my wife was in labour; I missed the birth of my child. And then I find out that I'm allowed nowhere near it; they won't even tell me the gender."

"Ros got it written down, she even signed it; they have to respect her wishes even if they don't know why she's made the demand. It's a girl by the way, so she's not yours."

"There's a problem with that statement; it implies that she's finally plucked up the courage to leave me." he chuckles dangerously.

"She has."

"Really? I'll just have to change her mind when she comes round then."

* * *

Ros comes round to the sensation of someone stroking her cheek, the action sending minute ripples of pain through her face. For the first time in years, she feels safe. She finds it sad that she had to be hospitalised and risk losing her child to obtain such feeling.

Her child.

"Where is she?" Ros asks in a hoarse whisper.

"I wouldn't know; they won't let me near her."

Her blood runs cold and she opens her eyes to find her husband sitting at her bedside. "O-Oliver?"

"Did you really think I wouldn't come?"

"I..."

"And now," he interrupts. "I find out that you're planning to leave me. On what grounds, may I ask?"

"I don't know. You can leave me if you want." she whispers, close to defeat.

"You're my wife, why would I want to leave you? Just because you've had an acc-"

"No," Ros shakes her head slowly. "It wasn't an accident. You did this to us."

"I wouldn't start lying if I were you."

"I'm not."

"Let me see her, Rosalind."

"She's not yours; she's my daughter."

"That's where you're wrong, because you're mine; and anything you think you might have, belongs to me. So I'm going to see my daughter now; and when you get home, we'll talk."

Much to her chagrin, Ros is nearly in tears when the nurse comes in shortly after to check her drains. She can't let him near her baby.

"How are you feeling?"

"My husband did this to me." she states by way of an answer.

"He made this assault against you?"

"My husband did this to me."

"I'll call security." The nurse informs, before dashing from the room.

Ros is shocked that her confession did not bring about the wave of shame she thought it would. Instead, she almost feels free.

"My husband did this to me." she whispers to the air.


	9. Remembrance

Ros takes a deep breath when the two police officers enter her hospital room. For a moment, she wishes she could take it all back and pretend it didn't happen, but she knows that in reality retracting her statement would do nothing. She's alone; she doesn't want her brother and sister present because she's scared that hearing this will break them, and if they're broken than they can't fix her. And so she lies in her hospital bed with a fractured hip and two cracked ribs, separated from her baby and ready to tell one of the most guarded secrets in her existence.

"Miss Myers, could you tell us the first time your husband was abusive towards you?"

"I was 21," she cringes at the thought that she let this go on for so long. "It was just a slap."

The officers make no comment about the last part of her statement. "And then the violence escalated?"

Ros nods. "Slowly, until it became a near everyday occurrence. It was normal at first; kicks, punches, slaps, verbal abuse..."

"And then?"

"...And then he raped me," Ros admits softly. "But I didn't say no. He was my husband, I couldn't say no..."

"You didn't want to, and he knew that, you didn't want to," the female officer insists gently.

"Then how did he still make me- make me..." she trails off, voice broken. Neither police officer has any words to say; it's incomprehensible. The poor woman was even betrayed by her own body.

"We'd still have proper sex," Ros continues. "But it wasn't the same because I'd think of the other times."

"That's understandable... Your brother told us that he stabbed you once; is that true?"

"I remember him looking so scared when he saw all the blood. It was the only time he apologised for hurting me. I suppose he thought I was going to die. He looked so lost; like a small child, and I knew I couldn't make matters worse. So I said nothing; Mace knew people who could make it disappear."

The younger officer hesitates before asking the next question. She wonders how she can be asking such a thing whilst the woman's baby is next door fighting for her life. "Your hospital records state that you've suffered two miscarriages."

"Yes. There might've been more, but if there were, I didn't know I was pregnant."

"The records also state that one was- that one happened..."

Ros knows what the woman is trying to say, although it has been nearly a decade, Ros's heart still stops beating. "He caused them both, if that's what you want to know." She's stalling; trying to block out the memory, the grief. "The second time it happened, I was further along than with this one. She was a girl too."

He wouldn't even let her hold her.

"I'm sorry," she apologises as she feels the grief bubble in her chest. "I can't do this anymore. I want to see my baby. I need to see my little girl."

The officers nod their understanding, and call for a nurse to assist her to the SCUBU unit. She wants to walk; the medical staff insist on a wheelchair while she recovers from the C-Section.

* * *

Her daughter looks unbearably small, swaddled with wires and contained within an incubator. She's too weak to be held, and that very fact causes Ros to break down.

She can't hold her baby.

And it's all her fault.

She sobs, but they are not cries; just a raw, painful sound that only despair can produce. Her sister runs in to find Ros with her hands pressed flush against the incubator, almost willing them through the sterile plastic.

"I did this to her," she whispers hoarsely. "I did this."

"You didn't do anything."

"It's my fault that she's like this. I nearly killed my baby..." Ros moans.

"It's not your fault. It wasn't your fault then, and it isn't now." Alice draws her little sister into a hug which she doesn't reciprocate. Her hands remain frozen in mid-air.

"I can't hold her. He wouldn't let me hold her."

Past and present are blurring together under the immense hopelessness Ros is feeling right now. She did this; no matter what they say, she did this. She should've been stronger. She should've been better somehow.

"It's why you left; because it was my fault," she whispers.

Her sister is silently crying now. "I left because I wasn't a good sister. It was never because of you."

"Do you think she's scared?" she asks, gazing down at her daughter with her eyes taped shut and a breathing tube in her mouth.

"No, she has you."

"But I'm wailing like a banshee." Ros laughs weakly, wiping the tears from her cheeks.

"Well then, with any luck you'll wake her up."

"I don't have a name for her. I didn't want... In case it was like last time."

"Do still think about...?"

"Cassandra? Every day. I know there's no... But still. Sometimes, I go to the park and imagine what it would've been like to feed the ducks with her. I don't even know if this little one will like ducks."

"You should get some rest. I can have the nurse get you something if you like."

"Will you and Robert stay with me?"

"Of course. Of course we will."

* * *

Harry is sitting in the relatives room, crushing polystyrene cup, after polystyrene cup, wishing they were Mace's head. He shakes his head at the memory of Ros lying there on the kitchen floor; from where she was, Mace would've had to step over her to leave. He crushes another cup. The bastard stepped over her. He is about to crush another cup when a delicate hand stops him.

"Ruth." he sighs.

"She's...safe." Ruth answers his unspoken question as best she can. "Alice wanted her to rest but she doesn't want to yet."

"Have you spoken to her yet? Did she..."

She shakes her head. "I spoke to Alice though; I've forced her and Robert to go and get something to eat. You should see her. She needs you."

"Where are her parents?"

"Her mother can't bear to come, and her father," she laughs bitterly. "Well, I can see where Ros got her relationship values from. He hit her mother, right up until he went to prison."

"The bastard."

"She needs you Harry." Ruth insists softly, knowing those few words to be true.

* * *

Harry feels his guilt wash over him tenfold at the sight of Ros lying in her hospital bed; he should've done something, he should've listened. He realises just how small she is, in every sense of the word. He imagines the pins and plates holding bone and joint in place. Harry can tell from the tension radiating from her body that there is a deep physical pain alongside the emotional, though she won't admit it. She's so still, he almost believes she's asleep but the barely audible sound of her voice prevents him from leaving.

"Thank you."

"I didn't do anything." he replies softly.

"No. Everyday you gave me at least 10 hours where I didn't have to hide under his shadow." she smiles, eyes unfocussed.

"Are you alright?"

"I started crying again; this time I couldn't stop, so they gave me a light sedative...he wouldn't let me hold her. Funny, isn't it?"

"What is?" Harry asks softly, realising that she needs to talk; that she needs this prompt to share some other hidden aspect of her grief.

"That I can't remember anything else but that. No pain, no sound, no colours; just the fact that he wouldn't let me hold her. That, and she had green eyes or she would've; I never got to see."

"Because they took her away?" he holds her hand gently, but she doesn't acknowledge its grip in any way. Ros just stares past him, past the walls, and deep into some long-buried memory. She finds she cannot cry now; she is too tired to cry.

"No. She was born with her eyes closed and she never opened them. Didn't even get one look at the world, or at me...But when I see her, she has green eyes like my Nana."

Harry doesn't think he can speak at this moment in time. A part of him wants to cry at this near-broken woman before him, but the larger part of him knows he can't because that wouldn't help her, and she needs all the help they can offer her.

"That's why this little one has to live," she continues, unaware of his inner debate. "They've taped her eyes shut, and I won't let her go without seeing something. I won't ever let her go."

Harry squeezes her hand gently, the action causing a small sob to escape her mouth when he pulls away.

"Please don't go."

She's still scared; terrified of a phantom Mace concealed in the spaces behind her eyelids. And at this moment in time, no amount of logic will disembowel him.

Harry remembers how he used to comfort Catherine when she was still afraid of the monsters under her bed, and decides to take the same course of action now. He climbs onto the bed and carefully pulls Ros towards him, taking care not to jostle her hip. He feels her breathing calm slightly as the back of her head rests against her chest, and forces himself to do the same when he sees that more bruises have fully revealed themselves; half her face an array of purple, yellow, and indigo. Harry drapes a gentle arm over her torso, avoiding her damaged ribs and the stitching from her operation. They lie in silence for a while, some of her fear slowly dissipating away.

"They'll ask you to leave soon."

"They already have. Ruth soon put pay to that idea."

"Ruth? But what about the children?"

"They're having a sleep-over at Wes and Adam's."

Silence.

"Harry," she whispers. "Tell me everything's going to be okay."

"Everything's going to be okay."

Ros neither needs nor wants to be told the truth. She needs to believe that they're going to be okay; not brilliant, not wonderful, not even good.

She'll give anything just for 'okay'.

For the first time in nearly twenty years, Ros Myers falls asleep unafraid.


	10. Lessons

She'll be called Elizabeth.

Her mother has been waiting nearly three weeks to give her that name. She's harboured it in secret and nursed it until this day. The name of two queens, a Jane Austen heroine, and The Highwayman's love. The doctors and nurses gather round the not-yet-to-be-named-Elizabeth's incubator, and perform the action her mother Rosalind has been waiting for since she was cut from her womb.

They turn off her respirator.

Her mother watches in awe as she pushes and pulls air in and out of her lungs.

"There we go," Ros murmurs. "There we go, little one."

Ros keeps vigil for the remainder of the day, only eating and going to the bathroom when the nurses or her sister instruct her to. Ruth and Harry visit in the early evening, and their conversation progresses as it has done for the past three weeks.

"Has he...?"

"No," Ruth shakes her head. "How is she?"

"Breathing."

They sit in silence until visiting time is up. Ros rarely speaks nowadays, though they think she talks at length with her daughter. Harry hates the fact that Oliver has taken away her voice along with everything else. They leave quietly but Ros doesn't notice; her eyes fixed on the rise and fall of her baby's chest.

Ros decides to give her gift away slightly early; a gesture of her utmost faith.

"Come on Elizabeth, you and I have a long night to get through."

She wakes in her own bed and for a brief moment panics, until a nurse comes to wheel her back to the SCUBU unit. Upon seeing the rise and fall or Elizabeth's chest, Ros feels her heart start to beat again. However, it stops for a brief moment when she opens her eyes.

They're green.

Ros decides then that she's going to walk. They told her that the pain in her leg will be severe during physiotherapy. She almost giggled when they did; she's pretty sure she's felt worse pain before. She soon thinks herself sorely mistaken, especially this morning. She's trying to walk up stairs; ones that lead to nothing but three steps into mid-air. Once she reaches the top, she has to turn and go back down. She's better at going down them, she always has been, especially when Oliver was giving her helping hand. The mere thought of his name causes her to freeze and her hands slip from the railings; only the quick reflexes of her nurse prevents more damage to her hip.

"I think we'll stop here for today. You've made amazing progress Rosalind!"

She hates the fact that she has to swallow their lies, and has an urge to scream until the woman's patronising grin melts off her face.

Ros just smiles instead. "Can I see Elizabeth?"

"Of course." she smiles, pushing the wheelchair towards her. Ros shakes her head, grabbing her frame instead.

"I'm walking." she states, shuffling forwards and gritting her teeth at the pain.

* * *

Oliver Mace is not a man quick to anger, and nor does he release his wrath unjustly. He's a fair man, so it's reasonable for him to be mildly upset at his wife's vindictive behaviour. Oliver takes a slow and steady sip of his scotch, letting the liquor run over his tongue, whilst his hand reflexively clenches into a fist. He catches sight of her cardigan draped of the chair and feels annoyance surge through his veins. Her cardigan, that he bought her. Oliver decides that before he lets her go, he must teach his wife one final lesson. With a clear sense of purpose, he makes his way through the house, gathering up every single thing that he so kindly decided to give her or allow her to keep; right down to her toothbrush. Oliver stuffs them in black bags, before dumping them in the boot of his car and dialing his mobile.

"I want you to clear out the nursery and then await further instruction," he orders before pulling off.

He only starts to calm as the lighter fluid saturates everything the bitch has ever touched. Oliver pauses only to allow his men to add the broken pieces of cot and baby-grows to the ever-increasing pile on the ground. His calm flutters away when he lights his cigar and drops the match, causing the objects to light up like a christmas tree. He kicks away a few objects, eradicating the flames before dropping them in a small carrier bag along with a small hardback book.

Oliver smiles.

His treacherous little whore of a wife is definitely going to get this through her thick skull.

Harry is working late; diffusing mountains of paperwork in lieu of bombs. All thought of work evaporates when he sees an all too familiar and unwelcome figure swoop through the pods. It astounds him how this man can remain so calm and arrogant when he has hospitalized both his wife and child.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he spits.

"Now, now, is that anyway to greet an old friend?" Mace laughs dryly.

"I'm not friends with wife-beaters."

"I don't comment on your marriage to that analyst, so I don't expect you to comment on mine. It really isn't your place."

"It becomes my place when I find your pregnant wife lying on the kitchen floor after being _beaten_."

"Rosalind's a good liar, you of all people should know that. She fell."

"You beat her."

"Let's not fall out over semantics. I was in such a generous mood, I decided to drop off all of her things." Mace declares, dropping the carrier bag onto Harry's desk.

Harry carefully removes the contents and places them in a row. Three things are all he has permitted her to keep, and from their slightly charred condition, Harry can tell what has happened to the rest. He looks over the objects again, feeling a lump arise in his throat; a baby-grow, a diary, and a half-burnt ultrasound are all she has inherited from nearly two decades of marriage. Harry picks up the small black and white image, and a surge of rage washes over him when he sees the date.

"Apparently, she called it Cassandra."

"You arrogant little shit. I wouldn't be feeling so confident if I were you; the only reason she hasn't pressed charges yet is because she's waiting for you to agree to a divorce."

"No," he laughs. "The only reason she hasn't pressed charges yet is because she's terrified of doing so. My Rosalind knows her place, and the thought of rising above it is too much for her little head to cope with."

"I'll make her press charges."

"No you won't, because she'll weep and you'll comfort her and tell her that she doesn't have to do anything she doesn't want to do. I, on the other hand, have made her do all kinds of things," he leans in conspiratorially. "Do you want to know the secret to my success? I ignored her when she begged me to stop."

Harry jumps up, and it takes all of his willpower and the thought of Ros's potential case against this bastard, to keep him from beating Oliver Mace until he could only eat from a straw. The other man just smirks before turning towards the pods.

"Oh and when you see Ros, tell her I send my love. And that I'm divorcing her because she's a spiteful little whore."

* * *

Ros is attempting to get into bed when Harry enters the room. Without a word, he assists her without seeming to get in the way like the nurses do. He lies down next to her and half-prays that she'll be her usual 'talkative' self, because his head is still reeling from Oliver's vile words; yet he knows that thought is selfish, as Ros has been hearing them for years.

"Visiting hours are over."

"I bribed the nurse with a box of chocolates." Harry smiles.

"What's in the bag?"

"Your things. Mace dropped them off at the Grid."

Ros holds her damaged possessions in her hands as if they might disappear at any second. "I thought he'd destroy it all, but he didn't."

"They're still your things, it's criminal damage."

Ros shakes her head. "It's okay Harry, they were never my things."

"You earned your own..." His voice trails off in realisation and shock. "Please tell me you had your own bank account."

She shakes her head again. "The money was his, along with the house, the car, and everything he gave me."

"What about the things you had before you got married?"

"He got rid of them." Ros answers simply. "I was his wife. He owned me; whatever I thought I might've had, belonged to him."

"Rosalind..."

"It's alright," she comforts, resting her head on his shoulder and yawning. "I have a daughter now, and things. Things that are mine; I haven't had that in years."

She falls asleep, and when he makes to leave, he thinks of putting the objects clutched to her chest on her bedside table to make her more comfortable. He drops his hand after a moment's hesitation and heads out the door, turning off the light. He didn't think it would be right to take them from her.

After all, they're hers.


	11. Safe Houses

Jocelyn Myers sits in his rather comfortably furnished cell, waiting for his informant to bring their monthly spoils about his family. For the most part, he ignores the news on his children; his two eldest rarely touch foot on british soil due to work and other commitments, and Rosalind was the one who put him here in the first place. Besides, his only real concern is his wife and her fidelity to him. There would be grave consequences if Annabel thought she were able to file for divorce, or meet someone new. He flexes his fingers and exhales slowly in a bid to calm himself. As soon as his informant closes the door behind him, Jocelyn Myers has a rather depressing feeling that he'd better pay attention to everything this young man has to say. The man silently takes a seat opposite, constantly avoiding his cold gaze. Very bad news then. The bitch.

"It's about your youngest daughter, sir. She's been taken to hospital."

"My wife did inform me of that. How's my grand-daughter?" he inquires, mildly surprised the news is unrelated to his wife.

"Breathing without support. The expect to discharge her over the next three weeks if she continues to improve."

"Thank God," he sighs with relief. He still remembers how Ros was after the last one. His poor little girl; there were times when he was afraid to leave her side for fear she'd kill herself. 'A random attack,' the police concluded. Random or not, he still wanted to murder the bastard who'd hurt his baby girl.

"From you hovering, I gather there's more."

"We've just found out that her husband was denied access... She claims he caused the assault, sir."

"Pardon?"

"His informant coughs nervously before continuing. "She also claims that he's been assaulting her on a regular basis."

"For how long?" Jocelyn demands, rage coursing through his veins.

"According to her claims sir, over 25 years."

Jocelyn Myers slams his fist on the table, causing his young employee to flinch. "My daughter is not a liar! These are not claims, these are truths!"

"I apologise."

"Tell me where the bastard is."

"We don't know."

"Then find out."

He watches as his informant scurries off, before upturning the table. He's outraged; both at the fact that Oliver thought he could get away with doing that to his baby girl, and the fact that she didn't even tell him. If she had just told him, he would've fixed it. He hopes to fix it now if they can find the slimy bastard. He requests to see his wife immediately; his current familial circumstances and £100, ensuring that Lady Annabel Myers will be sat opposite him within the next two hours. Jocelyn Myers has another feeling; his wife has quite a bit of explaining to do.

* * *

The appearance of her mother at the hospital room's doorframe is a pleasant surprise to say the least. Ros waves her in and accepts her mother's tearful hugs without a single roll of the eyes. She remembers the last time her mother greeted her like this; the fear in her eyes that she would lose both a daughter and a grandchild.

"How are you both?"

"Elizabeth's doing really well," she replies with a smile that lights up her entire face. "And since I can use both my frame and crutches, they're hoping to discharge me tomorrow."

"Hoping?"

"I'm homeless, mother. They refuse to discharge me without the promise of secure and suitable accommodation."

Lady Annabel knows for a fact that Rosalind is unable to stay with her siblings; their accommodation are minimalist shoeboxes, rarely used and never for long periods of time. The doctors have said that she can barely make it up three steps before the pain is too much, though the nice lady who gave her tea did mention something about a spare room on her ground floor. She seemed willing to take Ros in without hesitation.

"What about staying at a friend's? That nice la-"

"Ruth has children. And I sometimes wake up in the middle of the night screaming my head off. Besides, I want to do this by myself. I want to do it my way. Tell Dad that too."

"What makes you think your father knows about any of this?"

"You're wearing long sleeves. Did he grab you too hard?"

"He's upset. He wants to know why you didn't tell him."

"I thought he'd take his side."

"He would never do that; he loves you."

"He loves you too. That doesn't stop him hurting you. Tell him I've dealt with it."

"And have you?"

"They're sending someone from Refuge. They'll talk about whether I want to take it to court or not. In the meantime, they've provided me with safe accommodation."

"Why not use a safe-house?"

"He'd find me." Ros whispers. "You don't have to worry about me. I'm a big girl now, I'll be fine."

For some reason, Lady Annabel just can't believe that.

* * *

Ruth makes her unhappiness known as they settle Ros into her new flat. Harry and Robert spend the afternoon attaching the temporary railings to the bathroom and kitchen surfaces, whilst Ros and Ruth make sure all everyday necessities are easily at hand. Most of the blonde spook's bruises have faded, but the damage still lingers. It hides in phrases such as 'I don't know, but Oliver always had...', and 'Well, Oliver liked...'. Ruth wonders if Ros ever had the opportunity to form a personal opinion outside the walls of the Grid. It is this lack of self-confidence that scares her the most.

"They tell me you're considering dropping the charges."

"I might."

"And why would you do that?"

"Because courtrooms are awfully public; I was raised never to air my dirty laundry in such places."

"But you'll agree to a divorce that labels you as a whore. For God's sake, he even suggests that Elizabeth isn't his! Are you seriously trying to tell me that you are going to let him slander you after 25 years of abuse?"

"I've left him, Ruth. Isn't that enough?"

"No, it isn't. You can't let him get away with it! It's wr-"

"I can't fight him!" Ros snaps, barely holding back the tears. "I can't fight him and win. I love him Ruth, and there are things that I let happen because I loved him. They'll go over and over them, and make me look like a liar. I want to start forgetting Ruth; you all think he's a monster but I loved him. So I want to forget that I was only ever good enough for a monster."

"That's not true. You're better than him. You have to fight. You can't let him get away with this."

Ros sighs. "I'll think about it."

Ruth knows that's the best she's going to get for now. Both Harry and Robert are also reluctant to leave her alone, but Ros insists on their departure. It's time to find her own way around things now. After all, in mere weeks she'll be caring for a baby in this space and she doesn't want to let her little Elizabeth down, not after all the effort she's made. She doesn't dare to mention that she's more terrified of going out of her flat, than of people coming in. It's silly, but after all these years, she can't help but think of everyone as a spy out to sell her down the river. She locks all the doors and windows after them, and decides to set to work on making some dinner.

She burns the pasta sauce.

* * *

On the third day of her life outside the the boundaries of the hospital, Ros wakes from her fretful night's sleep to find Oliver sitting at the end of her bed with her crutches in either hand. She cannot speak from terror; he wasn't meant to be able to find her. She's meant to be safe here. This was going to be a safe place for her and Elizabeth; their own little _safe_ part of the world.

"You're taking an awfully long time to drop those charges Rosalind."

Ros cannot get her brain to open her mouth.

"I'm divorcing you, isn't that what you wanted?"

She nods her head slowly. She is painfully aware of the fact that he has removed her frame from the room; even she managed to get out of bed, she couldn't follow him, not really.

Oliver heads to the doorway. "You want me to take you back with open and forgiving arms then. Shall we head home right now?"

"No!" Ros exclaims in a barely audible voice.

"It finally dains to speak." he declares in a low voice, leaving the bedroom altogether.

Ros is forced to pull herself out of bed and follow, using the walls and railings for support. Her hip isn't used to the pressure and the pain stings her eyes.

"Drop the charges Rosalind."

"They don't want me to," she whispers, a lone tear escaping due to her pain and distress.

"And since when did you do what they told you to?"

"Oliver..."

His laugh interrupts her. "I might just change my mind and cancel the divorce. Then, what would you be?"

Ros's heart has forced its way into her throat, cutting off her speech.

"I asked you a question, woman."

"I-I'd be your wife."

"Yes, you'd be my wife. Mine. And what exactly would that make your runt of a daughter?"

"Oliver..." she breathes, struggling not to weep.

"What exactly would that make your runt of a daughter?"

"Yours," she cries.

"That's right, mine. And what could you do if I said you weren't allowed to see her?"

"Oliver, please..."

"What could you do?"

"N-Nothing."

"And what if she dies? You'd let your little girl die all alone? I thought you promised Cassandra that would never happen again. Isn't that what you wrote in that little diary of yours?"

"Oh God," she sobs, clinging to doorframe and railing for support. She never allowed herself to consider that possibility; outright refused to.

"You should learn not to make promises you can't keep. Drop the charges, or so help me God I will drag you home like the whore that you are, and make you watch your baby die." Oliver hisses as he heads out the front door.

Ros takes in deep shuddering breaths when the door slams shut. Looking round, she can see that he has put the phone out of her reach. If she wants to contact anyone, she'll have to ask a neighbour. She uses a kitchen chair as an improvised walking frame and manages to open her door after some effort. She needs to call someone; she needs to hear someone's voice that isn't his. Ros is nearly hyperventilating when a neighbour lets her in, and all but forces the phone onto her.

"_Hello?"_

Ros can only weep in response.


	12. Crimes

_**Author's Note:** Wow, two years to the day since I started this! Hopefully, I'll be able to wrap it up soon!_

* * *

Ruth slowly ushers Ros into her front room, and offers the sobbing woman a cup of tea. The blonde hasn't stopped crying since she picked up the phone. So far, the only words she's managed to discern are, 'Oliver', 'Elizabeth', 'dead', and 'charges'. Ruth is pretty sure of the speech Mace gave his soon-to-be ex-wife, and knows that she has to do everything in her power to persuade Ros not to drop the charges.

"Mummy!"

Her heart breaks anew when Ros flinches at the innocent action of her children bursting into the room.

"Boys! Go and play in your rooms."

"But mum..."

"Now!" Ruth insists gently.

Ros cries harder.

"It's going to be alright."

"I-I have to drop the charges. H-He won't divorce me if I d-don't drop them. I don't want to be his anymore Ruth, I don't want to be h-his!"

"They'll dissolve it if he's convicted."

"And if he isn't?" Ros whispers tearfully.

"You don't go back to him. Appeal for a divorce on those grounds."

"I want to, but I'm scared."

"Don't let it stop you. That man thinks he can get away with whatever he likes, and we have to prove him wrong."

Ros winces slightly as she shifts in her seat.

"Are you alright?"

"It's just my hip, I'll be fine."

"Promise me you'll get it looked at when you visit Elizabeth."

"I promise."

Ruth is aware of the fact that throughout this entire exchange, Ros hasn't slackened her tense posture once. She still doesn't feel safe and Ruth has no idea how to change that.

"Can you call me a cab?"

Ruth picks up the phone but hesitates. "I could drive you, it's no trouble."

Ros shakes her head. "You have to get the boys ready for school."

She sets her mug down on the coffee table; it's cold, and she didn't manage to drink a drop of it anyway. The mere thought of food makes her want to retch, but she knows they'll make her eat at the hospital. She glances down at her tank top to see that it is soiled; she forgot that she normally expressed milk at this time.

"I'll get you a jumper," Ruth offers quietly.

"Thank you."

As she slips the thin, woollen jumper over her head, she can't help but feel more broken than she's ever felt before. She's a mother who can't care for her child, a wife who is unloved by her husband, and a woman who can barely move for fear and pain. She knows now that Mace is the cause; he is the problem and so she must find a solution.

"I'll press charges," she whispers.

She doesn't want to cower in submission any longer.

"You will?"

Ros nods slowly, still coming to terms with the idea. "I realise now that it wasn't all my fault; I accepted my punishment and he should too. We made vows, Ruth. He promise to love and cherish me...He didn't do that, did he?"

Ruth shakes her head sadly. "I don't think he did."

Ros hisses as she attempts to stand. She realises that she hasn't taken her pain medication; it was weak enough due to her desire to breast feed, but right now she greatly appreciates the little it does. Ros tenses even more when the cab driver has to pick her up and carry her to the cab. She almost wants to laugh at the situation; all those times Oliver kicked her to the ground under the false notion that she was in another man's arms, and over the past weeks she has found herself in several men's.

Yes, it would be funny if it weren't for the grief it caused.

* * *

"Will I have to go to court?"

It is a question that has plaguing her since she first made her confession. She isn't sure if she can tell the truth to all those people, especially with him standing by.

"It would be preferable, but if you really don't want to, we can use a statement or a video testimony given by you. You wouldn't have to be in the same room as your husband."

"What will I have to say?"

"Just what you told the officers initially, if you want another interview that can be arranged."

"So I have to tell them everything?"

"I'm afraid so."

"If I do that, they'll never believe me. They'll never believe that someone would let another person do those things to them."

"But those things did happen to you, and your husband was the perpetrator."

"What will you charge him with?"

"From what you've told us, we have grounds to charge him with several counts of ABH, GBH, assault, false imprisonment, and rape. We could probably also charge him with attempted murder in regards to the stabbing."

Ros's mother gasps, and turns away slightly. "It sounds so horrific when you put it like that."

Ros squeezes her hand slightly, and can't help but wonder what charges her own father would be up on.

"In light of his recent actions, we'll try and push an injunction order through; he won't be able to come within 100 yards of you and Elizabeth."

"Thank you."

"It's my job, Rosalind. I'll leave you with your mother now. Don't hesitate to call." The police officer states, before quietly slipping from the room.

* * *

Lady Annabel sits by the incubator, marveling at the strength her grand-daughter displays. The police meeting today has shaken her greatly, and she cannot stand to think of what that man did to her daughter. It's hard to think of those crimes as 'love'; the actions of a man who 'loves you. Sighing, she leaves the SCUBU unit and makes her way to the Relative's Room; Ros doesn't want to leave Elizabeth tonight and frankly, Annabel doesn't want to leave her daughter alone in some unsafe flat.

Lady Annabel understands her daughter's fears too; the things their husbands have done are incomprehensible, yet they can still love them in some way. It was the source of many arguments between her and her sister. Arguments that only got worse after Rosalind was born, for there was one thing she could never make her sister understand.

Annabel takes a seat on the edge of the sofa, and gently strokes her sleeping daughter's face just as she has always done since birth.

Destroying the evidence, will never eradicate the crime.


	13. Love and Marriage

_Ros is giddy with excitement as she stands before the mirror, reviewing her chosen outfit for the last time. She rarely wears 'mute' colours, but Oliver tells her she looks beautiful in them. She smoothes out the imaginary creases in her dress and takes several deep breaths to calm herself down. Oliver sounded nervous on the phone, and she can't help but wonder what is making him so preoccupied. Ros understands the tension a long-distance relationship can suffer; but he only has a year left of his posting, and Ros is coming back every holiday, ensuring that they spend no longer than three months apart. A sinking feeling creeps into her stomach; perhaps he wants to end the relationship, and just doesn't know how to break it to her gently. Ros has heard all the opinions about her relationship with Oliver; the disapproval of his being fourteen years her senior, the horrendous mistake that was her relationship with the Diplomat. She wants to tell them that Oliver is different. He knew all about her failings, yet he carried on with her regardless. She doesn't want him to give up on them now, she doesn't think she could cope._

"_A penny for your thoughts?"_

_She jumps upon hearing the soft voice, then smiles when she sees its owner. "I was thinking about you...about us, really."_

"_Nothing bad, I hope."_

"_You do still think we should be together, don't you? I mean, it's just that other people..."_

"_I don't care about them. I care about you, Rosalind." He shushes her by placing his finger over her lips. "I know we should be together. I know, because I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Rosalind, will you marry me?"_

_Ros stares at the little velvet box in shock. At the age of nineteen, she has no idea what to say. She loves him; she knows that much, and at this moment in time, there is only one answer she can give._

"_Yes."_

_She stares as he slides the ring onto her finger, its diamond glistening in the light. It's raining when they step outside; he'd hoped to have a celebratory picnic. Instead, they take shelter in an old summer-house. Her hands tremble from the immense joy she is feeling._

"_This isn't exactly the romantic evening I had planned."_

"_Nonsense," she chides softly, shaking her head. "It's perfect."_

_They're perfect._

* * *

Ros cannot believe the words that are leaving the doctor's mouth. She had been so focused on her daughter surviving, that she hadn't considered the consequences of that very feat.

"She's deaf."

It is not a question; she is not in denial. She just wishes to get a taste of the words. Her daughter is deaf.

"Yes. Ms Mace--"

"Myers," she interrupts softly. "Ms Myers."

"Ms Myers, I'm afraid your daughter shows no real response to aural stimulus."

"Will she be able to speak?"

"At this stage, it's too early to tell. Later on in her life, there may be a possibility of cochlear implants but that would require further tests to check her compatibility. I'm sorry Ms Myers, we just have to wait and see."

"And asides from the deafness, she's healthy."

"Yes. You'll be able to take her home as promised."

Ros holds her daughter in her arms, and marvels at the perfect human being she has created. She's overwhelmed by fear. Ros now has to care and protect someone who has already been let down by her; she's imperfect, and has no idea how to be a role-model, a pillar of strength, when her own weakness has kept her trapped for over two decades. She smiles when Ruth enters the room along with Malcolm, Jo and Zaf, who is shuffling nervously from side to side.

"I thought it was time they should meet the latest addition to the clan. We can come back later--?"

"No," Ros whispers, shaking her head. "Come in, she's just waking up."

They gather round the waking infant, each taking the time to compliment her mother on her green eyes. Ros can see that Jo is itching to hold the child, and although she is still extremely anxious about letting her baby girl out of her arms, she knows that they are safe now.

"You can hold her if you like."

"Can I?" The younger spooks exclaims as Elizabeth is carefully placed in her arms.

The child is like a feather, and Jo is scared she'll break at the slightest movement. She marvels at the fact that this child is now allowed to lie in her arms, when mere weeks ago, her mother had to be scrubbed down just to be in the same room as her. Jo glances at the older spook, and hands back the child with a gentle smile. It pains them all to see Ros so on edge when they know that Mace's life remains vastly unaffected.

Several minutes later, they say their goodbyes; only Ruth and Malcolm remain to escort Ros and her daughter home. Soon after, Ruth is pushed out the door by an insistent Ros; she promises to say hello to Adam and the boys for her.

* * *

Malcolm installs her home security in silence, listening to Elizabeth wriggling in her moses basket in the background. He is packing away the last of his equipment when Ros' voice startles him.

"Would you like some tea?"

He is about to decline politely, when she limps defiantly into the kitchen and puts the kettle on. He follows and takes a seat at the counter, marveling at how easily she moves around preparing tea cups and biscuits. This is the Rosalind that the world was never allowed to see, he finds that she is quite remarkable and wonders how anyone could bring themselves to destroy that.

"I-I've linked your system to the one at the Grid, so if any--"

"I understand," she interrupts, not wishing to think of possible scenarios requiring 'Grid' intervention. "Thank you for your help."

"It was nothing... I do wish you'd told us sooner." Malcolm blushes, regretting his rather inappropriate outburst.

Ros looks over at the moses basket containing Elizabeth, and when she speaks, it is in a gentle whisper. "I really thought it would be different this time. I don't know why, he just seemed different. It seemed like he had changed. Now, I've launched a case against him."

"It was the right thing to do."

"Was it?"

"You know it was."

Ros nods her head slowly. "I love him. I love him, because he gave me Elizabeth. I love a man who hates me. And I'm telling this all to someone who really shouldn't have to listen to all my ramblings."

"I really don't mind. You need to get this off your chest."

He can't help looking mildly shocked when she bursts into tears. He's never seen her cry before, no matter how tight a situation she was in; the urge to physically harm Mace is overwhelming.

"How can I be a good mother if I've already let her down? She's deaf, Malcolm. How am I going to comfort her? How am I going to comfort her if she can't hear me?"

"You'll comfort her, just like you've been doing. All mothers feel this way at the beginning."

Malcolm places his hand mere inches from her own in a gesture of comfort; Harry and her brother Robert are the only men allowed to touch her for now. She smiles through her tears, and nods her head repeatedly in a bid to reassure herself.

Truth is, she doesn't care if all new mothers feel this way; she's been feeling inadequate for 25 years, and she just wants it to stop.

She wants to feel perfect again.

_

* * *

Ros' body is tingling with nerves as she stands before the full-length mirror, reviewing her chosen outfit one, last time. She rarely wears her hair up, but Oliver tells her she looks beautiful like that. She smoothes out the imaginary creases in her dress and takes several deep breaths to calm herself down. Today is the beginning of the rest of her - their life. She refuses to listen to the people who tell her that she is only 19, that she has years until she has to be someone's wife. She wants to tell them that this is an obligation, it's a choice; she'll never be 'someone's wife', because Oliver isn't like that. Her sister's voice jolts her from her reverie._

"_Are you ready?"_

_Rosalind nods, unable to speak from excitement._

"_The car's waiting."_

"_You think I'm making the wrong decision."_

_It wasn't a question; Rosalind and Alice never asked each other questions they already knew the answers to._

"_If marrying him will make you happy, then it's the right decision."_

"_He will, I know it."_

"_Good."_

_As she makes her way down the aisle with her father at her side, she's overwhelmed by a sense of security. They've survived all the long-distance aspects of their relationships. They've survived the stares, and the whispers, and the condescending remarks about their ages. So Ros feels nothing about standing before God, and reciting vows of love and fidelity. She feels nothing, because she believes them._

_When they kiss, her world stands still._

* * *

They stand in shock when it is announced that Oliver Mace will serve a suspended sentence. Their barrister states nonsense excuses such as there being no sure proof of the rapes, and the uncertainty surrounding his attack and her premature labour. It's bullshit; Mace had allies higher up, and less integrity than they thought. Ros seems to be deadly calm throughout the proceedings, even going so far as to give a small smile when the team glance over at her. She doesn't even react when he walks past with that infuriating, smug grin of his. Ruth shakes her head in anger, unable to believe that the bastard will walk free after what he's done. Ros just stands up and slowly walks after him, only stopping when she is right behind him.

"Oliver?" she calls out softly.

He's barely acknowledged her presence, when she spits viciously in his eye. He almost looks shocked, and she almost wants to cry.

"Fuck you."

When she turns away, her marriage ends.

Her life begins.


End file.
